


Sixteen Years Later

by Flightless_Bird



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alex gets into fights, Charles Lee's an ass, Happy ending though, Hurt/Comfort, Washington just wants to help, What even are these tags?, a bit of angst, alex is a lil OOC, father/son relationship, i apologize for how sappy this is at times, i just love their father-son thing a lot, protective!washington, sixteen-year-old alex, this was so self-indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-15 19:02:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10556120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flightless_Bird/pseuds/Flightless_Bird
Summary: "You weren't there!" Alex shot back. "And until you are, you can't judge whether I'm right or wrong. You don't have that right!"Washington gritted his teeth. "As long as you live here, I do.""Don't give me that 'as long as you live under my roof' bullshit.""Son—""I'm not your son."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Please forgive me for the sappiness that I shoved into this fic. This was pure self-indulgence. I just love these two a lot and realized I didn't write anything with them yet. Technically, this could take place in the "what'll you fall for?" universe, but it can totally be read alone too. I hope you guys like it! Let me know what you thought, I'd love to hear what you liked and write more for you soon! :3

It was late when she brought him home.

  
Washington knew he was in for a long night when he answered the door and found two very tired-looking people gazing back at him. One of them happened to be a neighbor from a few blocks down, Ms. Taylor. Concern lined her face and, paired with the already-frizzy blonde hair, she looked exhausted. Next to her was a boy of about seventeen, head lowered and shoulders slumped. She had her arm looped around his shoulders, as though she'd helped him walk here, and his weight was held mostly on one leg. He didn't dare meet Washington's eyes.

  
Standing in his front door like this for the third time this month, Washington could only sigh in resignation. "Where did you find him?" he asked, deadly-calm. He thought he saw the boy flinch.

  
"Just a block from my house," Ms. Taylor answered. She gestured back at the way she'd come, blue-grey eyes wide. "I'm sorry, George. I know you don't like us intervening, but there were so many of them, I was afraid that—"

  
Washington raised a hand reassuringly and offered her a half-smile. "I understand, Ms. Taylor, it's no problem. Thank you for bringing him home. I apologize for any trouble he might've caused you." At the word "trouble," he shot a hard glance in the boy's direction. Soulful brown eyes had strayed to him for a second, but they flicked away again under his burning gaze.

  
"Oh, no, it's all right," Ms. Taylor replied, patting the boy's back sympathetically. "You know how boys are. I'm just glad he's okay."

  
A beat of awkward silence passed. Ms. Taylor's gaze darted between them several times, until Washington almost wondered if she pitied the boy for whatever wrath Washington was going to throw at him. _Oh, trust me. He's not going to like it_. "Thank you again, Ms. Taylor," he said at last, reaching for the boy's shoulder and ushering him toward the door. "Don't go to your room yet, I want to talk to you," he murmured as the boy passed him. All he received was a terse nod in reply. He tossed Ms. Taylor a grateful smile as he started to follow the boy inside. "I really appreciate it."

  
"You're welcome," she said, voice small as she began to turn away from the door. Her gaze remained pityingly on them until the door was shut behind her.

  
The outside noise of crickets beginning to emerge into the evening was cut off, with a sense of finality that left the house dead-quiet. Washington stayed by the door for a moment, hand on the knob, and closed his eyes briefly. Another night, another argument he didn't want to face. He was getting tired of this. There was a tiny creak from the floorboards behind him and he released a weighted breath. "Stop, Alexander."

  
The order hung in the air between them and even though they were alone, Washington was hit with the strange sense of having an audience. He turned from the door and found Alexander standing across from him, toeing uncomfortably at the floor. The front door led immediately into the open kitchen, and Alex had leaned his back against the island in the center. It wasn't done in a lazy, absent way. It looked as though he actually couldn't hold up his full weight. Washington's chest tightened as he looked him over.

  
Alex looked awful, to put it bluntly. Dark hair escaped his bun in messy tangles around his face, only partially covering a swollen, black-and-blue eye. His lip was split and it looked as though he'd tried to wipe the blood away with his sleeve. But more was starting to drip down, bright crimson against his skin, and the knee of his jeans was ripped. Washington didn't have to look at his hands to know his knuckles were bruised from the punches he'd thrown back.

  
"What happened this time?" he asked, low and strained with false calm.

  
Alex shrugged with one shoulder, mouth drawing into a thin line at some hidden pain. "Does it matter?"

  
"It must have," Washington returned, "if you thought it was worth being dragged back home like a lost dog."

  
Alex's jaw tightened, but he didn't say anything. He pushed his hands into his pockets, realized that that hurt his beaten hands too much, and settled for crossing his arms instead. "It was nothing," he muttered.

  
"It's always nothing," Washington pointed out. "That's what you told me the last time and all the other times before that. I thought you'd grown out of this, Alexander."

  
A flash of defiance lit in Alex's eyes. "I guess you thought wrong then, huh?"

  
"Watch your mouth," Washington growled, and Alex shrank back at once. "I don't understand this. I don't ask for much. I've told you, if you just keep your grades up, there isn't much I won't allow you to do. Yet you still insist on getting yourself into these pointless fights."

  
"They're not pointless."

  
"Oh, they aren't? Then why don't you explain them to me."

  
"Because you'd say that I'm being stupid and I just need to learn to let it go."

  
"Who threw the first punch?"

  
"Why do you care who—?"

  
" _Who threw the first punch_?"

  
Shifting his feet, Alex huffed. "I did," he admitted quietly.

  
"Then you have no excuse," Washington concluded. He swept a hand out in a gesture of frustration as he went on: "no reason to fight whoever it was you picked this time. Who was it anyway?"

  
"It was Charles Lee and...a couple others."

  
"'A couple others?' How many do you think you can handle before you're seriously hurt?"

  
"Why don't you just butt out?" Alex snapped, emotion rushing out of him in a harsh wave. He pointed at Washington with his fist shaking at his side and a tangle of hurt and anger simmering in his expression. "You obviously don't care about my reasons, so I shouldn't have to give them to you!"

  
"Reasons don't matter," Washington retorted dangerously. "Not when you're the one starting the fight in the first place. There's no good reason to hurt someone, Alexander."

  
"You weren't there!" Alex shot back. "And until you are, you can't judge whether I'm right or wrong. You don't have that right!"

  
Washington gritted his teeth. "As long as you live here, I do."

  
"Don't give me that 'as long as you live under my roof' bullshit."

  
"Son—"

  
_"I'm not your son_."

  
That brought Washington to a halt, lips parting in shock. He was not a man that was easily hurt; in fact, there had been times when people had jokingly claimed they weren't sure if he had feelings to be hurt. But in that quiet room, Alex glaring at him icily, Washington felt those words like blades in his chest. Maybe something had registered in his expression, because Alex glanced down at the floor silently. Shoulders slumping as the anger began to melt away, he rubbed a hand over his eyes. "I—"

  
"Get cleaned up," Washington cut him off curtly. Alex's gaze met his and there was definitely guilt flickering across his eyes. Washington refused to make eye contact for long. "You know where the bandages are by now."

  
He didn't look up, not even at Alex's soft, "okay," or the slow shift of his shoes over the floor as he walked away. No, not walking, his steps were too uneven; he was limping a bit and it sent a new surge of anger into Washington, this time directed at Lee and his gang. How dare they touch him? Alex might have started it, but that didn't take away from the fact that he was hurt and that _they_ had hurt him, those bastards.

  
Releasing a long sigh, Washington brought a hand up to his temple where a headache was starting to take shape. He was just so _tired_ of this, of waiting for Alexander to come home, of worrying about why he was late this time, if a neighbor was going to call him frantically because this time he couldn't even walk back. The fighting didn't used to be so bad. In fact, it had actually started in full force when a couple of new kids moved in the neighborhood: Lee, and his friends, Thomas Jefferson and another named John Adams. Before that, the most Alex had done was get into heated arguments with a few kids at school, nothing more.

  
Now look at him.

  
They couldn't leave it like this.

  
Striding across the room, Washington rounded the bend at the end of the kitchen, leading him into a side hallway. The bathroom was directly to the left and he could hear shuffling and muffled swearing coming from inside. His steps slowed and he peered through the doorway.

  
Alex was in front of the bathroom's tiny closet, stretched up on his toes as he struggled to reach the first aid kit. It was on the top shelf and well, Alex wasn't the tallest of people. To top it off, Washington could tell that he was trying to keep his weight off of his hurt leg. The whole thing resulted in him dancing strangely on his toes, cursing under his breath all the while. It might've been funny, in another situation. But then he accidentally put too much weight on his leg and it almost gave out. Hissing, he dropped back onto his feet. "Dammit." A tear escaped down his cheek and he furiously wiped it away with his sleeve. Washington's heart twisted in his chest.

  
"Here," he said at last, making himself known as he stepped into the bathroom.

Alex's gaze shot up to him, eyes wide and glistening. Then he ducked his head, pushing the tangled hair out of his face. "Thanks," he mumbled, as Washington easily reached the first aid kit and slid it from the shelf. Alex held out his hands for it, then started in surprise when Washington just popped the lid open himself.

  
"Are you bleeding anywhere other than your lip?" he asked, as though this was the most casual thing in the world.

  
Alex touched his lip, seeing his fingers coming away wet, and then pressed his sleeve over it self-consciously. "I don't think so. Maybe my knee."

  
"How'd that happen anyway?" Washington motioned at Alex's leg, the one he kept carefully bent as he stood.

  
"I, uh, I hit the pavement pretty hard," Alex explained awkwardly.

  
Fiddling with the bandages and antiseptic, Washington swallowed a few choice insults he had for those rotten kids. "They pushed you?"

  
"Um." Clearly not used to talking in such detail about these things, Alex rubbed the back of his neck. "Nah, Jefferson kicked my legs out from under me."

  
"What about Lee?"

  
"Lee was already done by that point. I got to him first." Pride tinged his words, but at a sharp glance from Washington, he dropped his gaze to his feet.

  
Letting out a rough exhale, Washington unscrewed the cap on the antiseptic. "Right then," he said, "let me see that eye."

  
He turned to Alex, towering over him easily, and even with a busted leg, Alex still tried to straighten up more. It was kind of endearing and Washington had to hold back an amused smile as he examined Alex's black eye. There was a nasty cut above it, just where the skin started to turn purple and swell. That was where he started cleaning and Alex hissed when the antiseptic burned into the wound. "Fuck," he hissed. Washington shot him a flat look and Alex added a sheepish, "sorry."

  
There was silence between them for a few minutes. Washington tried to think of what to say as he cleaned the blood from around Alex's eye and then his lip. He knew what he wanted to say, but putting something so fragile into words like this was—

  
"They were talking about you."

  
His movements faltered at the shaky sound of Alex's voice. Alex couldn't look at him. A strand of hair had fallen into his face, but he didn't seem to notice. "They said that you just pitied me because everyone else didn't want me," he went on. "But now that you're stuck with me, you're gonna see why no one else stayed, and then you're gonna...send me back or whatever they do with bastard orphans. Not that I cared. They can say whatever they want about me." He sniffed, dragged his fingers under his eye. "But they called you stupid and some other shitty names. So, yeah."

  
Washington's mind was blank, except for Alex's voice ringing in his ears. "Alexander..."

  
"And I didn't mean it," Alex added hurriedly. He looked up at Washington then, voice catching around the words and eyes starting to swim with unshed tears. "What I said earlier, about not being your son, I—I didn't mean it, I was just mad—"

  
He broke off with a gasp as Washington abruptly folded him into his arms. He tried to be mindful of Alex's injuries, but it was impossible to keep from wanting to be closer, protect him. Alex was standing, hands not quite touching Washington and chin resting on his shoulder. "Dad?" he asked uncertainly, and Washington felt in that moment the overwhelming emotion that only came from being a parent.

  
"This doesn't mean that you're not in trouble," Washington warned. Then his voice gentled. "But I understand. I do." He brought his hand up to the back of Alex's head, wondered what it might have been like if he'd gotten to hold him when he was born instead of now, sixteen years later. _Is it possible to love your son more than you already do?_ "And you're wrong, Alexander. You're not an orphan," he added, and Alex started to tremble against him. "Not anymore, anyway.

  
Alex hugged him back then, fingers tight in the back of his shirt burying his face in Washington's shoulder. A sound suspiciously close to sob shook his shoulders and he mumbled something into Washington's shirt. "What?" Washington asked gently, and Alex pulled back a little to wipe the tears from his face.

  
"Love you," he mumbled, and now Washington was sure that no, it wasn't possible to love his son more than he already did.

  
Mouth curving up in a mixture of pride and reassurance, he drew back, holding Alex by the shoulders. Pushing his hair back again, Alex offered a weak smile.

  
It was Washington who broke the silence with, "Lee would laugh his ass off if he saw you right now." Alex's expression darkened instantly and he growled embarrassedly when Washington laughed.

  
"Shut up."

  
"It's my job to point out these things."

  
"You can go just ground me now."

  
"Jefferson would laugh too."

  
" _Dad_ , holy crap, _stop_."


End file.
